


Run From You

by yugto



Category: Suikoden Tierkreis
Genre: Denial of Feelings, M/M, Post-Canon, Running Away, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yugto/pseuds/yugto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running away from one’s problems is generally not the ideal way to solve them. Historically, though, if the past day has been any indication, Roberto hasn't exactly got a penchant for making the right decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run From You

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for implications of underage sex.  
> Fun fact: this is the longest slash fic I have ever written. (No double entendres intended.)

The early morning sun filters through the curtains of a room in Castle Ratselhaft, falling on the face of a slightly disgruntled young knight and rousing him from a deep sleep. A headache pounds at the sides of his skull, dogged as a pekklar, and his mouth feels drier than the Janam Desert; he squints at the light, decides it’s too much effort to be awake right now and he’s going to _kill_ whoever made the drinks whenever he properly wakes up, and—

Roberto’s about to go back to sleep, really, he is, his eyelids are drifting closed and everything, but one thing hits his hungover, sleepy brain: there are colorful drapes on the wall, the room smells of cinnamon, and the sun is shining in from the wrong direction.

This room is not the Blades’ hall.

The soldier’s sense in him ignites and he starts, sits bolt upright; the covers slide off him to reveal his bare chest, and a growing feeling of horror fills him as he sees his clothes discarded carelessly on the floor. Dreading what he’ll see, he turns slowly to the right to find the sleeping form of the commander of the Company, blankets failing to cover his chest and a large, purpling mark on his collarbone.

Roberto is no master thinker, but his brain is able to put two and two together all too quickly. Memories come rushing back like a flood and inundate his brain.

A feeling of panic wedges itself through the thick, languid haze of alcohol and satisfaction that covers his mind, and he uneasily scoots away from Sieg. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Sure, sometime while they worked together to fend off the Order of the One True Way, he’d realized that he’d developed a ( _stupid stupid stupid_ ) crush on Sieg, but he’d been dealing with it in the best way he could think of: tamping down his feelings, ignoring the way his heart sped up whenever Sieg got too close, and pretending that nothing had changed.

He still doesn’t know why he chose that course of action. Maybe he was afraid of letting himself fall, or maybe he was scared of being rejected. Either way, he wasn’t supposed to get anywhere with Sieg—he was going to go back to Astrasia, and Sieg would go off and do whatever stupid things he usually did, and eventually Roberto would get over it and the two of them would be just fine.

But here he is, naked in Sieg’s bed and nursing an impressive headache. Obviously, he’d gotten much farther than he ever planned. Mechanically, he slips out of the bed, starts getting dressed; he stops halfway through pulling on his shirt when he realizes that he has no idea what he’s going to do.

Roberto feels very much like he is going to be sick, and it isn’t just the hangover talking.

He spots his shoes in the corner by the door, and he’s padding over to retrieve them when Sieg lets out a soft sigh and rolls over. The other boy’s eyes flicker open for a brief moment, register surprise at someone else’s presence in his room, and Roberto bolts.

Mercifully, it’s still early, and most of the castle is still recovering from last night’s feasting, so there’s no one in the hallways as Roberto speeds back to his quarters. Chrodechild, Fredegund, and Meruvis are dozing quietly on their cots, and Yula’s fast asleep on the couch; Roberto tiptoes past them, puts on his shoes, grabs his armor and swords, and skulks out of the room.

His brief stint with silence over, he hurries away again. Since the lift was installed, he’s hardly seen anyone on the staircases— he uses this knowledge to his advantage, leaping down the stairs two at a time, shoes thumping on the hard stone, head pounding in time with his footsteps, having no destination in mind but knowing one thing for certain: he needs to get out of the castle. He slows to a walk when he reaches the front hall in an attempt to avoid attracting Moana’s attention; her constant presence by the door is an accepted fact of castle life. He hopes that she’ll be sleeping, like everyone else seems to be; however, Moana is apparently above human things such as the need to sleep, since she spots him as soon as he steps off the stairs.

“My, my, Roberto! I’m surprised you’re even awake after that feast last night,” she calls to him jokingly. “Wustum and Sphiel have knocked out half the castle with those drinks of theirs! Even this guy here—” she nudges a sleeping Hotupa with the toe of her boot— “completely blacked out! I couldn’t drag him out to the tents, and he _still_ hasn’t woken up. Guess no one’s going to keep an eye on the Gateway today.”

She pauses for air, sees Roberto’s face caught between annoyance, terror, and pain, and immediately switches tracks. “Are you all right?! You look terrible!”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. His headache throbs painfully, as if his skull is trying to say _you are such a liar_. He ignores it and stalks toward the archway leading outside.

“Wait, where are you going? We _just_ beat the One King! _There aren’t even any missions out yet!_ ” Moana shouts after him, but Roberto’s already gone, speed-walking away, passing Quillard and Amaralicht who are somehow both awake and sparring in the courtyard. They call to him, but he doesn’t respond, breaking into a run instead; in front of the Gateway, he screeches to a halt, takes a deep breath, and steps through.

There’s a familiar whooshing sort of feeling that comes with transitioning from one plane of existence to another, and then he’s in the empty Corridor, footsteps echoing on the tiled floor, headed for any exit that will take him away from his own idiocy and an idiot with silver hair and stormy gray eyes and a perpetual grin whom Roberto will never be able to look at again without remembering how he looked, eyes scrunched in pleasure, underneath—

 _No._  He’s _not_ thinking about that. He sprints through the nearest exit, trying to escape his own thoughts, and pops out in the Grayridge mine.

He’d hoped to go to Pharamond, but Grayridge is far enough away that he can catch his breath and decide where to go next. He climbs the rope ladder out of the Gateway, then stops and sits down a little ways away from the hole to stop and think for a minute. He wonders, distractedly, what Princess Chrodechild would think, feeling a vague stab of guilt at simply running out on her and the Blades of Night’s Veil like this. He doesn’t believe she’d be disappointed or angry about what he did, but he knows she wouldn’t approve of the way he’s fleeing his problems. Running away from one’s problems is generally not the ideal way to solve them. Historically, though, if the past day has been any indication, Roberto hasn’t exactly got a penchant for making the right decision.

He fights monsters in the mine until he’s so fatigued he barely remembers where he is, then takes the lift up to the top floor of the mine and shuffles over to the inn. He pays the woman at the front desk a few potch, settles into a room, and barely has enough time to apply medicine to his wounds before he falls asleep.

* * *

The next morning, he decides to take his chances with the castle one more time; if nothing else, he at least needs to let Princess Chrodechild and Meruvis know he needs to get away from the castle for a while. He slips out of the inn and back through the Gateway and the Corridor, and appears moments later outside the castle. After skirting around the throngs of people who have recovered from the feasting two days before, he sneaks into the kitchen and gets some breakfast from Wustum, who seems vaguely offended at the idea that Roberto only wants a simple sandwich. Roberto only shrugs in reply; he’s not in the mood for having a lengthy meal, and after the events of two nights ago, he’s not sure he wants to accept any drinks from the castle kitchen for a while.

Sisuca enters the kitchen, and Roberto ducks away, almost completely sure she’s come to terrorize him for what he’s done. Instead, however, as he escapes the kitchen, he hears her exasperated voice castigating the resident snow fairy: “Sphiel, you can’t put _alcohol_ in the drinks when you’re serving kids! Did you know Marica _just_ got over her hangover? I was so worried! Who knows _what_ could have happened to all my other babies?”

Suddenly, Roberto doesn’t feel all that hungry anymore, but he takes the sandwich anyway and walks outside to the quietest spot he knows: a tiny patch of forest on the shore of the lake. The sun has just barely risen, sending ripples of light across the lake. He sits with his back against a tree, takes a bite of the sandwich, and hopes no one else will venture this far out.

“You should straighten things out with Sieg, you know,” he hears someone say, and looks up to see Asad nestled snugly in the tree, staff in hand. It looks as if he’s been practicing one of his weird mage skills; as Roberto cranes his neck back to look at the mage, a gentle trickle of dust forms a halo above his head, then forms itself into a disc-shaped projectile and fires itself into the lake. Ripples spiral out from the point of impact as Asad continues nonchalantly. “He’s been looking for you all over the castle for the past day and a half.”

“Your opinion was not requested,” Roberto grumbles. Another figure approaching from the direction of the castle causes him to leap to his feet, ready to sprint away if need be, but it turns out to be merely Princess Chrodechild. Beside Roberto, Asad slides to the ground and snaps to attention, and Roberto swears he can see Asad vainly trying to check his reflection in Roberto’s armor. Scoffing inwardly at the mage’s lack of subtlety, Roberto nods respectfully. “Princess Chrodechild.”

“Ah, there you are, Roberto! Excellent, I’ve been looking for you. I must travel to Salsabil to discuss preliminary treaties and agreements with Shams,” Chrodechild says, “but Astrasia has been left alone and unprotected for long enough. Meruvis, you, and the rest of the Blades will return to Pharamond via the Gateway. Fredegund will accompany me to Salsabil.”

Roberto nods dumbly, hardly able to believe his good luck; here it is, a convenient way out, no questions asked.

“Also, Quillard told me he saw you running out of the castle yesterday morning,” the Princess adds lightly, and Roberto sighs. Of course, things could never be _that_ easy. “But Lord Sieg has been looking for you. He says he wants to clear something up with you. Care to tell me what that was about?”

“I— er…” He trails off, unsure of how to continue. Somehow, he feels like “I was drunk and I slept with Sieg” wouldn’t be the best answer here. Clearing his throat, he attempts to start again. “I. I didn’t make a very smart decision a couple of days ago.”

“Does it have something to do with those drinks at the feast?” Asad interjects, and Roberto shoots him an icy glare.

“Your input was not requested,” he snaps, attempting to convey his exasperation in the most hostile tone he can muster.

Asad is unaffected, and simply nods sagely. “Ah, I see how things are…”

“No one asked you!”

“Give it a rest, both of you,” Chrodechild orders, and both of them fall silent. “Roberto, I don’t know the entire picture, but I’m going to guess that you need some time to decide your next action.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Then return to Pharamond and figure out what you’ll do. The Blades are leaving in two hours.”

Chrodechild must have noticed the bewildered look on Roberto’s face, because she smiles softly and says, “Although I cannot speak from experience, I would say that if you need to sort out your feelings, then you should do that before you try talking to him. You really should talk to him at some point, though. Don’t leave him in the dark forever.”

“Th-thank you, Princess,” Roberto stammers, unsure how to take this unexpected advice. He waves a distracted good-bye as Chrodechild leaves to find Fredegund, with Asad trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

It takes a minute for him to register the fact that Chrodechild was perceptive enough to connect the dots and— _oh. She probably knows_ exactly _what happened_ , he realizes.

He puts his face in his hands. He does _not_ need his boss (and future queen) knowing about his messed-up excuse for a love life.

* * *

The trip through the Corridor and out of the Gateway is much less panicked and much more orderly than his previous flight. Amaralicht and Quillard return to Pharamond a few moments after the Blades exit the Gateway, accompanied by Guntram, Lathilda, and that crazy man from the forest whose name escapes Roberto’s recollection. The entire Astrasian contingent appears to have vacated Castle Ratselhaft within a day’s notice—however, Roberto concedes, maybe Chrodechild informed them about their return to Astrasia while he was off wilfully ignoring his problems and killing monsters.

Although they’re all a little sad to be leaving the castle where they’d spent such a long time, everyone seems happy to be home in Astrasia. Lathilda disappears into the downtown area with her husband in tow, eager to show him all the sights she hasn’t seen in years, and Guntram leaves to discuss matters of state with the council.

Quillard runs to catch up with Roberto, with Amaralicht following shortly afterward, and the three of them walk back to the castle together, talking about anything and everything except for the leader of the company. This fact does not escape Quillard’s scrutiny.

“Y’know what’s weird about this conversation?” Quillard muses. They turn the corner in silence, walk down the long cobblestone street leading to the castle, and when he gets no answer, he continues, unfazed. “We haven’t said a single thing about Sieg. But you usually _never_ shut up about Sieg. What’s up? I mean, we saw you running out of the castle a couple days ago. Did you two have a fight that morning?”

“Quillard!” Scandalized, Amaralicht elbows his brother in the ribs and turns back to Roberto. “Sorry for his behavior.”

“No, this is really strange!” the younger boy objects, unwilling to be cut off so soon. “You’re the one who said it to Sieg, Amaralicht! ‘ _All Roberto seems to talk about is you_ ’, you said!”

Roberto feels the need to end this conversation before it becomes any more uncomfortable, so he tells them the truth. Or part of it, anyway. “I did something stupid,” he states flatly. “We haven’t talked since.”

“Ah, well, that’s no good! If you had a fight, you should make up with him soon,” Amaralicht frets, worry clouding his face. “You look… off, in a way. It’s like you don’t know what to do next.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Roberto retorts, and speeds up his gait until he’s left a very puzzled pair of brothers behind. As he strides away, he reflects that it’s probably a good thing Sieg is so dense about anything involving feelings. Otherwise, he’s sure his crush would have been revealed long before the events of two days ago.

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have found himself in this situation if he’d been honest with himself and Sieg. But it’s not like it matters now. That Atrie kid had said there was no use about worrying about Ifs, right? Roberto should take that advice, should probably just get over it and move on with his life.

Inexplicably annoyed by these thoughts, he goes to unpack, a displeased scowl covering his face.

* * *

When Chrodechild emerges from the Gateway two days later, she arrives with three things: a newly-negotiated treaty with Salsabil, the ink still drying on its pages; a large container of food from Wustum—“I told him the journey only took a matter of minutes now, but he still insisted on making us a package to send us on our way,” Chrodechild says wryly; and Asad, an almost permanently perplexed expression on his face as he works out where he fits in. Guntram and the council are in ecstasy over the treaty, which hints heavily toward free trade and nonaggression, while neatly outlining old boundaries and historical accords. Roberto’s main concern is the food—although he never admits it, at least a quarter of the dumplings are squirreled away in his quarters, where he rations them out over the next week. As for Asad, he stays close to Chrodechild’s side at all times, still adjusting to his new life; he’s welcomed warmly by the Astrasians, but Fredegund glares at him sometimes, when he isn’t looking. (So does Meruvis.)

“Asad has agreed to become the commander of our Royal Mage Forces,” Chrodechild informs Meruvis and Roberto later. Personally, Roberto doubts that Asad came to Astrasia just because of the military opportunities it presented. After all, Asad treats Chrodechild like she’s the light of the world, maybe the light of the entire Infinity. Granted, this is how the princess ought to be treated, considering she gave up so much for the people of Astrasia, but the way Asad looks at her is something special. Fredegund and Meruvis have also noticed this, and although neither of them would ever admit it in a thousand years, Roberto is pretty sure they’re both at least a little bit jealous.

He doesn’t know why they’re so worried. Queen Chrodechild is very perceptive in matters of war and strategy, but she wouldn’t notice Asad’s feelings unless he actually confessed. Considering how Asad gets tongue-tied when he talks to the queen about anything unrelated to tactics, the confession won’t happen for a very long time, if it ever happens at all.

He mentions this to Amaralicht on a whim, when the two of them take a water break after sparring. Amaralicht just gives him a skeptical sort of smile, says something about how he guesses Roberto _would_ know about that, huh. A few feet away, Quillard smirks. Roberto silently resolves to show no mercy to the two boys the next time they spar.

* * *

Chrodechild’s coronation comes a few days later. It’s filled with pomp and circumstance, as is the custom in Astrasian coronations. As the youngest Blade of Night’s Veil, Roberto has never seen a coronation before; the former King ( _rest his soul,_ Roberto thinks reflexively) was crowned years before he was born. With no idea what to do, he simply follows Meruvis’s example. The Blades form two lines on both sides of the throne room. With their chins up, backs ramrod-straight, feet together, swords polished to a sheen, and armor gleaming, they cut an impressively sharp sight.

Resplendent in her shining armor, Chrodechild kneels in front of Guntram and lays her hands upon the twin swords that comprise Divine Edge. He asks her if she swears to govern Astrasia according to its laws; to show justice and mercy to all who ask for it; to take arms to defend Astrasia, should the need ever arise. She answers in the affirmative to every question.

“The vows which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep,” Chrodechild pledges, and bows her head. Guntram places the crown on her head. She stands, faces the crowd, and the citizens break into tumultuous applause. “Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!” they cry. Chrodechild looks slightly wistful for a moment—perhaps she’s thinking of her late parents, or wishing they were here to see her—but quickly turns and bestows a winning smile upon her audience.

After the applause dies down, Chrodechild sets to work straightaway. The excited babble of the Astrasian citizens diminishes as Chrodechild takes her half of Divine Edge from Guntram’s hands and addresses the audience.

“These men and women have proven themselves through trial of combat. During our exile from Astrasia, they demonstrated their fighting prowess and their loyalty to the kingdom; they showed the strength and courage to follow me when several could not. I hereby call the new Blades of Night’s Veil forward, that they may be knighted.” Her voice rings throughout the hall, the rapt citizens hanging on her every word; Roberto and nine other Blades come forward and kneel before her. She moves down the line, her words resounding as she knights each man and woman. Finally, she stops before Roberto.

“Do you swear to defend the kingdom with your life? To be honest in all your words and deeds? Do you swear to fight fairly in every battle; to always fight upon even ground; to never stab an opponent when his back is turned; to never fight with unbalanced numbers? Do you swear to spill no innocent blood, and to use your blades only when necessary? And do you swear to stand by these oaths, on pain of your forfeiture of your citizenry of the Kingdom of Astrasia forevermore?”

“I swear it,” Roberto vows. The flat of Flash taps his left shoulder, then on his right, and finally on the top of his head. The dull _clank_ of metal striking metal echoes throughout the silent hall.

“Rise, Sir Roberto,” Chrodechild intones. A swell of pride grows in Roberto’s chest. He’s been working toward this day ever since he was a child. It’s taken him years of squirehood and living on the run, but here he is. Finally, he’s become the youngest Royal Knight in Astrasian history.

* * *

 

The day after Chrodechild’s coronation, the Blades of Night’s Veil—well, now they should technically be known as the Royal Knights once more, but the Astrasians have come to use the terms interchangeably—are informed of a new threat when one of the civilians who lives on the outskirts of Pharamond travels to the castle to plead for help. Some of the monsters from Rarohenga have ventured all the way through to the Wilds of Veile, where they’ve decided to terrorize the civilians who are trying to build new homes on the very edge of the city.

An expedition is announced, which is expected to take about three days; Roberto signs up as soon as he can, eager to prove the worth of his new knighthood. About half of the Blades end up going out on the expedition, with the rest staying behind to defend Pharamond from any unknown threats that could crop up during their absence.

“Rarohenga can go to hell for all I care,” one of the Blades comments, leaning on his sword after bringing down a particularly stubborn Akephaloi.

“If you think about it, Rarohenga _is_ hell,” Meruvis remarks, and skewers a Pawn with his sword. Roberto leaps out of the way as it attempts to fire at him, then charges at it and lands the final blow. The Pawn explodes in a cloud of metallic smoke.

So the battles drag on. With their combined effort, the monsters are eradicated or driven out of the Wilds, and on the morning of the third day, Meruvis tells them that if they quick-step it back into town, they can make it back in time for dinner. A cheer goes up, and the walk back into Pharamond is jovial. Surrounded by men exaggerating the tales of their exploits in the Wilds, Roberto settles into a comfortable sense of camaraderie.

As they make their way back into town, triumphant, covered in monster bits, and exhausted, he runs into Jale on the main street.

“So this is where you’ve been,” Jale states flatly. Roberto sends a panicked glance down the street, where the other Blades are rapidly leaving him behind, and he’s about to say “Yes, all right, nice seeing you” and disappear down the nearest alley when Jale hits him neatly with a succinct statement. “He still wants to talk to you, you know.”

“Well, I don’t—”

“Look,” Jale cuts him off, “I don’t completely know what’s going on, okay? But Sieg is my friend, and I’m not going to let you keep hurting him like this.”

“I’m not hurting him!” Roberto protests. “Isn’t it better to just leave him be? I’m sure he regrets what happened as much as I do.”

“He’s been moping around the castle for _days_ ,” Jale informs him. This information is new to Roberto; he blinks for a moment, trying to figure out what Sieg sulking looks like, and comes to the conclusion that it would probably look like Jale’s normal behavior. “Talk to him.”

At a complete loss for words, Roberto starts walking again in the hope of leaving Jale behind. Catching up to him easily, Jale nods, “Nice talking to you,” then strides off in the direction of the Gateway.

Unbidden, the image of Sieg brooding quietly on the castle roof rises in Roberto’s mind. He squashes the image down and returns to the Blades’ wing of the palace, deciding that the first thing he’s going to do is clean all this monster gore off of his blades. The amount of grease, guts, and gore that has accumulated on his swords is frankly disgusting.

* * *

 

When Sieg shows up in front of his bedroom door less than twenty-four hours after Jale leaves Pharamond, Roberto supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“We need to talk.” Sieg crosses his arms and scowls up at Roberto.

“It is _six in the morning_. How did you even find my room?” Roberto hisses. Somewhere in the back of his head, he notes that he’s still only half-dressed, wearing a pair of pants and nothing else—Pharamond has been unusually hot this bloom season, and he’s not alone in his clothing choices; the Blades’ hall is full of men in various stages of undress. The sun is just barely beginning to pass through the window, and he can faintly hear one of the Blades snoring from down the hall.

“Meruvis told me, but that’s not the point! I’ve gotta talk to ya,” Sieg frowns. Roberto makes a mental note to strangle both Jale and Meruvis later, and tries to slam the door in Sieg’s face. Unfortunately for him, Sieg sticks his foot into Roberto’s room, preventing the door from closing all the way.

“Ugh! Can’t you go bother someone else?” Frustration lends his voice a few additional decibels, stirring a small flurry of activity in the hall. Inquisitive soldiers poke their heads out of their rooms to watch the scene, and other, less curious soldiers open their doors to grumble something along the lines of “it is _six o’clock_ , _damn_ this earth, shut _up_ , kid”.

In the midst of the bustle, Meruvis appears, serene as always. “Is there a problem here?” The stare he levels at Roberto promises an unpleasant scolding in the future if Roberto doesn’t get his life together and stop disrupting the other Blades.

“No problems here, sir,” Roberto groans in exasperation. Before Sieg can say anything, Roberto grabs him by the arm, yanks him into his room, and slams the door. The minutes go by, the babbling in the hallway outside slowly dies down, and the sound of doors closing echoes up and down the hall.

It’s around this point that Roberto realizes he hasn’t let go of Sieg’s arm yet. He drops it as if it’s burned him, and then backs away a few feet.

“Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk. Did everyone make it home yet? Is Maybelle ever going to leave your castle?” He crosses his arms over his bare chest, trying his hardest not to think about the events of last week. Now is not the time for any inappropriate reactions, which, of course, means that his brain regurgitates a waterfall of images that are not conducive to any sort of productive discussion.

“That’s not what I want to talk about, and you know it! I wanna talk about what happened last week!”

“We don’t _need_ to talk. You were drunk! I was drunk! That’s all there is to say. I’m sure you regret this as much as I do, so let’s—let’s just forget it ever happened.”

“What if I told you I didn’t regret it?”

“Well, then, that’s stupid! You’re fifteen, what do _you_ know about making smart choices?”

“I helped save the world,” Sieg snaps, eyes blazing. “I think I can make my own decisions!”

 _Do you actually use that savior-of-the-world schtick in real life?_ , Roberto is about to retort, but Sieg surges up, like a tidal wave, and kisses him soundly on the mouth.

Roberto is left speechless, mouth hanging open a little, not sure whether he’s angry or pleased at this latest turn of events.

“Did that prove anything to ya?” Sieg challenges him, a little out of breath, sounding a little terrified.

“D-don’t think that kissing me is going to solve anything!” The angry flush on his face is spreading all the way down to his chest, and blood is pooling in other unmentionable areas. Belatedly, he wishes he’d chosen to wear a shirt last night. He feels unprotected, exposed.

“Well, if you’d just listen, I’d be able to get things straightened out! That was the only way I could get ya to shut your mouth.” Sieg plunges ahead before Roberto has time to comprehend the insult. “Look. I don’t regret what happened, okay? And if you don’t mind, I’dkindaliketodothatagain,” he says, even more rapidly than usual. “Sometime. In the future. Not now, I mean. Ya left me kinda sore the last time around.” He grins ruefully.

“I—I—You gotta go,” Roberto mumbles, and all but pushes Sieg out the door, slamming it seconds after Sieg’s crossed the threshold.

“Gotta think or somethin’? Alright, take your time,” Sieg says cheerfully to the closed door.

Roberto waits until he hears Sieg’s footsteps reach the end of the hallway, hears Sieg bidding Meruvis a cheery good-bye. Uncomfortably agitated by the events of the past few minutes, he pauses for a moment, then slings a towel over his shoulder and marches off in the direction of the baths.

* * *

 The next knight to enter the baths in the Blades’ wing leaps out of the water almost immediately, screeching something about _how can water be this **cold** during **bloom** season?_

Meruvis does not huff in annoyance. Huffing is unproductive, a waste of breath, and does absolutely nothing to get the job done. However, he permits himself an exasperated roll of the eyes before striding off to deal with the errant knight.

* * *

The rest of that bloom season passes in a blur of activity, and the Astrasians slowly come together to restore their country to its former glory. Civilians and Starbearers work together, each contributing in their own small way to the restoration. Roberto patrols the outskirts of Pharamond with the rest of the Blades, aids in the reconstruction efforts, and falls into bed at the end of each day exhausted yet satisfied.

Slowly, somewhere in between hauling bricks for the builders, sparring with Amaralicht and Quillard, pacing laps around the city limits with his sword at the ready, and fending off some of the more audacious Rarohenga monsters, he trains himself in the art of forgetting, changing the subject whenever his brain veers remotely close to recalling anything that occurred that night. As a result of his efforts, by the time the next sprout season rolls around, he becomes able to talk about Sieg again without feeling like his stomach is dropping off the edge of a cliff.

At the beginning of the next sprout season, Yadima and Muro recruit some of the stronger Blades and attempt to plow some fields in the Wilds of Veile; miraculously, some seeds manage to survive on the once-barren land, and the Astrasian farmers report that they expect an excellent crop in the bloom season to come. In the meantime, their booming trade with various surrounding nations keeps Astrasia fed, negotiations with Ritterschildian envoys bring bits and pieces of brand-new technology into the country, and the people settle into life in a new and progressive Astrasia.

With Pharamond secure and well-fed, Queen Chrodechild is more than happy to accept the invitation when Sieg pops through the Gateway to invite her and the rest of the Astrasian Starbearers to Castle Ratselhaft, for a repeat gathering of the Company—“well, everyone who could make it back, anyway,” Quillard says a few hours later in an excellent imitation of Sieg’s tone. He’s providing Roberto and Amaralicht with a recap, since the two of them were out on patrol when Sieg stopped by. “He said some of them are already gone. But he says he’s looking forward to seeing all of us again!”

Roberto grimaces. Amaralicht shoots him a concerned look, opens his mouth to say something when Chrodechild puts her hand on Roberto’s shoulder and pulls him aside. “It’s been two seasons since you left. I think you can go back to the castle now.”

With no rejoinder to Chrodechild’s point, Roberto reluctantly digs some informal clothes out of the depths of his room, throws them into a travel satchel, and joins the queue that traipses after Chrodechild into the Gateway.

* * *

The Blades’ hall isn’t all that different from that morning when Roberto sprinted in, panicked and flustered beyond belief. The same hangings are on the walls, the cots are in the same locations, a spare set of training swords sits abandoned on the couch where Chrodechild and Yula used to talk strategy. If anything, it’s a little dustier, maybe a little emptier.

However, vacant as the room is, it still feels like home—almost as much as Pharamond, if not more. He’d spent nearly a year in this castle, after all.

He’ll admit to himself that he misses living here. Just a bit. But that’s all. He doesn’t miss being in danger constantly—he still remembers the suffocating feeling of standing there, powerless, as another world warps in over his head. It still wells up and chokes him sometimes.

And he most definitely doesn’t miss the people. Nope. Not one bit.

* * *

A few hours later, Roberto shuffles into the dining hall and hopes that Sieg won’t notice him. Amaralicht strikes up a friendly conversation with him as they file into the queue that’s gathering by the buffet, and politely pretends not to notice when Roberto changes the subject every time the conversation veers near the last time they were in Castle Ratselhaft.

Finally, _finally_ ¸ they reach the head of the line. Wustum has truly outdone himself this time around; the buffet table is laid with a spread of dishes he’s never seen before, helpfully marked with tiny cards lettered neatly in Savina’s handwriting. He piles his plate high with a serving of everything and traipses away to find a table. On his way, he takes a bite out of some sort of meat speared on a stick—a “shish kebab”, the card calls it—and tastes some assortment of Salsabilian spices delicately applied to what tastes like one of the raparo birds that prowls the Mislato River. It’s _delicious_. He has to force himself not to moan out loud. _Yes_. This is definitely what he missed most about the Castle.

For once, luck seems to be on his side; he’s able to go through the buffet line, get himself a glass of water, and sit down at a table without even hearing Sieg’s voice. Xebec and Hina wander over at some point, thoroughly engaged in a discussion of Lonomakuan politics and the workings of the Ministry, and drop into the chairs to Roberto’s right. Somehow, the conversation turns to international policies and ambassadors, and Roberto finds himself drawn into the chat, explaining how Astrasia has been negotiating with other countries in order to rebuild and keep the peace.

“It’s interesting how Astrasia doesn’t have a representative here,” Hina comments, reaching over to snag a shish kebab from Xebec’s plate. Ignoring the injured look he shoots at her, she continues. “Many of the surrounding nations or tribes have envoys here for a majority of the time. Salsabil has Manaril and Mubal stationed here permanently, Autar is here for the Furious Roar half the time, and even the Scribes have Liu running back and forth.”

Across the hall, Roberto spots Sieg and Liu with their heads bent together over some scrap of paper, discussing it in hushed tones. He feels a brief, irrational stab of jealousy—but that’s stupid, he thinks. Sieg has the right to talk to anyone he wants. It’s not like he cares who the idiot hangs out with, anyway.

“Aye, that’s true, but you’ve got to remember: Lonomakua doesn’t have a representative here, either. And Pharamond probably needs everyone in order to rebuild, don’t they?” Xebec counters. “They didn’t have all that many Starbearers to begin with, so it’s important to have all their possible manpower concentrated in Pharamond to help with the recovery efforts.”

 “But they have a Gateway right inside their castle!” Hina argues. “That’s an advantage we don’t have—they could summon their representative back at any time they wished. Roberto, you could be the Astrasian delegate! You get along well with Sieg, don’t you?”

“Astrasia could send someone else,” Roberto argues in a halfhearted attempt to divert her attention from him. “Amaralicht or Quillard could be an ambassador.”

“Quillard would be a terrible delegate,” Xebec shrugs unapologetically. “He’d end up punching someone in the face or angering some important diplomat. Amaralicht might be good, though.”

“I would too be a good delegate!” Quillard grumbles, setting his tray down on the table with a clang. The conversation rapidly devolves into Quillard’s impassioned defense of his own better qualities, with Amaralicht providing the obligatory older sibling backup.

* * *

Hours later, Xebec and Hina are exhausted of talking about politics, Amaralicht’s eyes are beginning to droop, Quillard is asleep on the table, and Roberto is considering getting just one more plateful of Wustum’s fried dumplings. It’s then that Sieg plops down in the seat between Roberto and Amaralicht, sufficiently awakening the tableful of sleepy teenagers. A feeling of dread settles itself in Roberto’s stomach, nestles itself comfortably somewhere in between the dumplings and the shish kebabs.

“Chrodechild told me you guys were havin’ problems with monsters comin’ out of Rarohenga,” Sieg says, blithely oblivious to how Roberto flinches away and Quillard’s sleepy eyes flicker back and forth between the two of them. “So she went ahead and registered it as a quest with Moana! And I figure since it’s a trip to defend Pharamond, I’ve gotta have a representative from Astrasia, right? So! That bein’ said, do ya wanna come along, Roberto?”

Roberto squishes down the twinge of selfishness that whispers _say no, there are so many other people from Pharamond that could do it_ , and rationalizes that this is for the good of Astrasia. He swore an oath to defend the kingdom in every way he could; he can’t just throw his knight’s oath aside because things are still awkward between him and Sieg.

“Sure,” he shrugs, trying not to look too unenthusiastic. Sieg’s face lights up with an enormous smile, and Roberto does his best to ignore the way his stomach starts doing flip-flops.

 _Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea_ , he thinks, before Sieg grabs him by the arm and drags him off to construct the rest of the party. Amaralicht flashes him a thumbs-up; Quillard jerks his head in some sort of acknowledgement before he nods off on Amaralicht’s shoulder. Xebec and Hina look vaguely bemused. As Sieg tows Roberto away, Roberto catches a glimpse of Amaralicht attempting to explain the situation to the puzzled Lonomakuans.

“Are you going somewhere, Sieg?” someone asks eagerly, latching on to Sieg’s other arm. It’s Maybelle, who looks all too excited at the prospect of a trip to Rarohenga. Idly, Roberto wonders if Maybelle has ever been to Rarohenga, because she’s a nice girl, really, she is, but no one in their right mind gets this enthusiastic over traveling to that wasteland. “Take me with you!”

“Uh,” says Sieg, and Roberto takes advantage of his momentary confusion to wrench his arm out of Sieg’s grasp. “Ain’t ya got somewhere to be, Maybelle?”

“How could I pass up a chance to be with my _lover_?” the girl giggles, and okay, this is sickening and Roberto doesn’t need to hear any of it. He’d never have thought that Sieg would end up with Maybelle—he’s not _jealous_ , he’s perfectly _fine_ , all right—good for them. He’s glad. Sieg’s finally out of his hair. He’s barely begun to sidle away before Sieg’s hand shoots out and grabs his arm again; the panicked look in his eyes clearly shouts _help_. Roberto reflects that maybe he jumped to conclusions a little too hastily. It looks like things haven’t changed that drastically in the last couple of months after all.

Roberto stands frozen for a minute, unsure what to do, before Jale intervenes smoothly. “Maybelle, you can’t go.” Subtly, he maneuvers himself in between her and Sieg. Sieg steps back a few paces, his stance noticeably relaxing, shoots Jale a grateful look.

“And why is that?” Maybelle whirls to face Jale, pink hair flying. Her fury is met by Jale’s customary blank expression.

“Because our party’s full up. I’m going. So’s Marica,” he adds, reaching out and pulling a clearly startled Marica over to the group. Her eyes dart between Sieg’s rattled expression, Jale’s quick nod, and the fuming look on Maybelle’s face, taking in the situation. She opens her mouth, considers how to word her reply, then nods. “Yeah, they just asked me a few minutes ago! Sorry, Maybelle. Maybe you can go next time?”

“Ugh! You’re just trying to interrupt the consummation of our love!” Maybelle storms away in a huff, almost knocking a startled Liu over as she marches off.

“Thanks, Jale, Marica,” Sieg sighs. “Dunno what I’d do without ya.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jale shrugs.

“Someone’s got to keep you safe from ‘consummating’ anything,” Marica remarks, rolling her eyes. Roberto has the good grace not to visibly flinch this time, but inwardly, he winces. If this is how the expedition is going to be, maybe he should have said no.

 “Yeah, sheesh. Imagine what Anya could do if she heard rumors like that,” Sieg grimaces, and politely removes his hand from Roberto’s arm.

* * *

No one is exactly sure how Rufa finds out, but at some point, she hears of the upcoming expedition and corners Sieg. “Rufa wants to come!” she chirps excitedly, bouncing up and down. “You’re gonna go to Rarohenga, right? You’ll need me!”

Sieg looks momentarily perplexed, then shrugs. “Sure, ya can come along if ya want to! We’ll move out tomorrow morning, all right?”

“Okay! Bye-bye!” Rufa says cheerily, and bounds off toward Kow-Low, presumably to inform him of the adventure to come.

After Rufa runs off, Marica and Jale swap identical puzzled looks, then turn to Sieg. “Not to be rude or anything,” Marica starts, “but, uh. We’re going to Rarohenga to _kill_ the monsters, right? Rufa’s talent is making the monsters leave us alone. What’s she going to do?”

“Hmm… Oh, ya weren’t there, Marica,” Sieg realizes, “but we actually found Rufa in Rarohenga! Actually—weren’t ya there, Roberto? You know what I’m talkin’ about, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Roberto stutters, and immediately curses himself for it. Forcing himself to adopt a more professional demeanor, he continues, “We ran into her in the ruins to the north. She might have been caught up in the world fusion and brought here, like Chein was with the Marsinah Plains.”

“Yeah, so who knows?” Sieg picks up easily. “She was really possessive over the Rarohenga Chronicle when we found it, too. Even after we came back, she hung around the Chronicle room and kept callin’ it her book.  Maybe she knows somethin’ we don’t!”

“If you say so,” Marica mumbles. Jale simply shrugs and helps himself to a few dumplings off Marica’s plate.

* * *

Once the party is set and the preparations are complete, Sieg herds them all over to Moana, who asks Sieg if he’s still got the mission parameters. He produces a crumpled sheet of paper covered in Chrodechild’s looping handwriting from somewhere within his armor; she takes it, examines it carefully, and annotates it in some places before returning it to Sieg. This being done, she provides a brief overview of the mission’s goal for the rest of the party, then lets them go with a stern “This is a _lot_ of potch! It’s good for Astrasia, too, but— _this is a lot of potch_! Don’t mess this one up, ‘kay?”

With Moana’s pragmatic advice in mind, the five of them follow the rest of the Astrasians into the Gateway and through the Corridor, emerging in the castle. In her strange garb, Rufa earns a few odd looks from the citizens that dot the town square, but otherwise, the supply run they make on the local markets is quick and uneventful. Sieg’s supply of potch is practically limitless, and so they leave the markets with their bags loaded with medicine, bandages, food, and other provisions for making a trip to Rarohenga.

Rufa skips along a few paces in front of the party, turns back to grin at the four following behind her. “This should be easy!”

* * *

“How come you don’t talk to Sieg?” Rufa asks Roberto, on the morning of their second day. They’re packing up their things, about to start walking again; he guesses she must be more perceptive than he thought.

“Did something stupid,” Roberto says tersely. “There was something I didn’t want him to know, but he found out.”

“Why don’tcha just talk to him about it?” Pausing for a moment, she reflects, then starts skipping again. “Clear things up! Yep! Don’t see anything that could go wrong!”

* * *

As is so often the case, everything seems to go wrong all at once.

After an encounter with a set of Scorch Queens by the entrance to the ruins goes particularly awry, the party retreats, limping away as fast as their wounded legs can carry them. “Bye-bye!” Rufa calls over her shoulder, waving cheerily at the monsters as they rush away. Roberto takes a minute to take stock of everyone’s injuries. The magnitude of each person’s injuries varies, but without a doubt, they’re all running ragged: Jale’s legs have been scorched by laser blasts from Pawns, Roberto has scattered lacerations on his arms left by the debris of an exploding Rarohenga Eye, and Marica is suffering various burns from a Hell Lamp.

Sieg, however, is doing the worst out of all of them; the Scorch Queens that they’re fleeing have left him with a parting gift in the form of an enormous gash that runs along his side. Barely conscious, he groans in pain as Jale hefts him onto his shoulders and carries him over to a large sand dune, where he’s unceremoniously deposited on the ground.

“Don’t you _dare_ die on me,” Roberto hisses. Stamping down the sense of panic rising in his chest, he roots through his bag for a roll of bandages. Next to him, Marica scowls in concentration, healing magic pouring from her hands into Sieg’s side.

“Monsters incoming,” Jale bellows, and instantly Roberto’s on his feet again. _Stay alive_ , he thinks desperately, drops the roll of bandages next to Marica, and seizes his blades. Marica crouches next to Sieg, shielding him from attacks, as Roberto and Jale thrash the Akephaloi.

They’ve battled their way through to the deepest part of Rarohenga, where Sieg and the others found Valfred finishing a ritual. All of them have been run ragged—Marica is running low on magic from healing them all, and they’re down to just two more Mega Medicines.

“Rufa, what are we doing here?” Sieg asks as he sits up. Marica’s magic has done the trick: the gash in his side has faded to an angry red scar. It still looks painful, but at least it’s not gushing blood anymore.

“The monsters need to leave,” Rufa responds. She cradles a large object in her arms—on second glance, Roberto recognizes it as the Rarohenga Chronicle.

“W-wait! Rufa! What are you doing?!” he yells.

“Bye-bye,” Rufa says serenely, then strides up to the top of the hill. A circle of monsters begins to close in on her, but she pays them no heed. As if she’s making an offering or giving a benediction, she raises the Rarohenga Chronicle high into the air; a sandstorm whips up around them, gusts of wind battering the ragged party. The sand lashes at every inch of unprotected skin, insinuating itself into chinks in their armor and wending its way into their clothes. Driven to his knees by the blinding force of the storm, Roberto yanks his collar up to protect his nose and mouth and reaches up to tug his headband down over his eyes. Just before the headband obscures his sight completely, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Sieg, silhouetted through the blowing sand, taking refuge within the folds of his cape.

With no way to see, Roberto sits in silence as the wind whips and howls around him. The minutes tick by, and then all at once, the storm fades with a startling flash of light. The sand falls limply to the ground, stirred only by a faint breeze.

Roberto pulls his headband away from his eyes, stares blankly at the hill.

There’s absolutely nothing there, save for a stray tumbleweed.

Rufa and the monsters have vanished.

“Do _you_ see anything?” Roberto asks Sieg, blinking a couple of times to make sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Sieg shakes his head no, spits a mouthful of sand onto the ground. Roberto scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, scrutinizes the horizon again. It’s true. There are absolutely no monsters in sight. In other terrains, this wouldn’t be surprising. But this isn’t the Noslaw Woods, where trees can shroud any number of enemies; this is Rarohenga, where the desert stretches out sandy and desolate in every direction. Monsters are visible from miles away here, especially since they’re so huge. Normally, at least one hulking Akephaloi is visible on the horizon, but now, there are absolutely no enemies; no Hell Lamps, no Pawns, no Ancient Whales, no Akephaloi, nothing except the two of them.

“I can’t find Marica and Jale, either,” Sieg speaks up after Roberto spends a few moments scanning the surrounding area for monsters. “They must’ve gotten lost in the storm. Dunno how they could’ve gotten far, though.”

The clouds stirred up by the storm slowly dissipate, revealing a sky burning with reds and yellows and purples. The setting sun paints the desert in muted shades of red and gold and drops ever lower on the horizon, threatening to plunge them into darkness at any moment.

“We don’t have a lantern or anything,” observes Sieg. “We won’t be able to get anywhere until mornin’, so I guess we should just make camp here and look for Jale and Marica tomorrow.”

 _Whatever happened to “We’ll never know if we never try?”_ , Roberto thinks, but doesn’t say. Instead, he replies, “That sounds like a plan.” Then, because Sieg still looks wiped out from his earlier injury, he adds, “I’ll take the first watch. You get some sleep.” He reasons to himself that there’s no point in having someone on watch if they’re impaired by a wound—if the monsters return and attack, Sieg, in his current state, would provide about as much defense as a wet sheet of paper.

Sieg argues weakly for a minute or so, but interrupts his own argument with an enormous, ear-splitting yawn. Confronted with the fallacies in his own reasoning, he concedes, “All right, you can take the first watch,” then sets up his bedroll and slips inside.

Roberto sits down a few feet away, draws his knees up to his chest, and lays his swords on the ground within easy reach. The sun disappears from the sky; in its absence, the air around him grows cold, and his breath forms a faint mist every time he exhales. The moon and stars rise higher in the sky as Sieg tosses fitfully behind him.

With the practiced eye of someone who’s spent many nights on guard duty, he surveys the horizon; when no monsters appear, he stares up at the night sky, tracing the constellations above his head. They’re not far from Astrasia, so the stars are in roughly the same positions as they’d be back at home—it’s not difficult for Roberto to pick out the most familiar ones. To the northwest, there’s the odd jumble of ten bright lights that comprises the Knight; east of that, the North Star glints brightly; and a little ways southeast, the five stars that make up the Blade—

“Roberto? ’S cold,” Sieg mumbles. “You should move over here.”

Reluctantly, Roberto picks himself up and scoots over a few feet, keeping his back to Sieg. Still wrapped in the bedroll, Sieg curls around Roberto, forming a gangly teenage parenthesis behind him.

Somewhere in the back of Roberto’s mind, it registers that he hasn’t been this close to Sieg since the morning he escaped the castle. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to distract himself from the closeness of the boy behind him, but nothing provides a sufficient distraction.

“I miss talkin’ to ya.” Sieg’s voice, quiet and groggy, emanates from somewhere in the vicinity of Roberto’s left elbow. “We made a good team. I mean, I guess sleepin’ with ya kinda messed things up for both of us, huh.”

It’s almost easier to talk to Sieg this way, without having to look at his face. Roberto stares at the stars and thinks, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not that I didn’t like it. It’s just that—I don’t know. I didn’t want you to know I felt that way.”

“Huh,” says Sieg. “What if you weren’t the only one who felt that way, though?” Unable to think of a reply, Roberto stays quiet. A few minutes of silence pass, and eventually the soft sound of Sieg’s snoring fills the air.

Even though he’s fully dressed, somehow, he feels even more vulnerable and exposed than he did on that morning Sieg showed up at his door. Half of him prays Sieg won’t remember this conversation in the morning. The other half of him starts analyzing Sieg’s actions in light of their latest conversation, a spark of hope flaring up inside him.

“I mean, _he_ kissed _me_. But—ugh! I’m on a mission! I can’t get distracted like this!” he mumbles to no one in particular. Behind him, Sieg shifts, presumably trying to make himself comfortable, and Roberto clams up.

Eventually, he becomes used to Sieg’s warmth at his back; it seems to fade into the background, and he becomes more preoccupied with trying to fend off the deep, aching fatigue that settles within him. Weighed down by weariness, his eyelids drop repeatedly, becoming harder and harder to lift as the minutes go by. He leans back against the warm body snuggled around his waist and closes his eyes— _just for a moment_ , he promises himself.

Marica and Jale find them early in the morning, both fast asleep on the ground. A clump of sand is stuck to Roberto’s cheek; he’s lying on his side, Sieg curled up to his back, with nearly no space between the two of them. Sieg’s arm is slung lightly over Roberto’s chest, fingers barely brushing the sand. The sun is just beginning to rise, streaking the sky and the surrounding desert with various shades of pink and red. The brilliant colors that cover the land are _almost_ enough to hide the blood that rushes to Roberto’s face when he realizes the position he’s woken up in.

( _Almost_ , but not quite enough.)

“I’m glad you two stayed alive. Really, I am.” Unfazed by what she’s seen—Sieg’s always been a cuddler, after all—Marica plops down on the ground next to Sieg and opens up her bag, digging through it in an attempt to find something edible that hasn’t been completely inundated with sand. Jale follows suit, dropping to the ground and fishing through the various supplies stored in his bag. Unobtrusively, Roberto plucks Sieg’s arm off his chest, sits up, and moves a respectable distance away. “But really,” she continues, “you took a _nap_ instead of coming to find us? I’m kinda offended.”

“There was no light!” As Marica triumphantly holds a loaf of bread aloft, Sieg heaves himself upright, snatches at the bread, tears off chunks and passes them around.

“We found ourselves over by the ruins,” Jale says through a mouthful of bread. “Took shelter there.”

“There, ya see? We could’ve gotten lost on our way to ya, and then where would we be?” Sieg takes a large bite, continues his argument with his mouth half-full. “At least ya found us, right?”

Marica shrugs, forced to concede this point, and they eat the rest of breakfast in silence. The end of breakfast brings a realization with it: Rarohenga is completely eerie when devoid of monsters. An oppressive, malignant aura hangs over the land, despite the absence of enemies, and every little sound they make echoes throughout the empty landscape. Without the friendly chatter that began their morning, the silence is enough to make everyone in their party feel uncomfortable.

“Let’s get outta here,” Sieg says. No one argues with him. They pack up the remnants of their breakfast, apply a fresh coat of medicine and bandages to Sieg’s side, and set off for the entrance to Rarohenga.

A few moments later, the rain begins.

The relentless torrent drums mercilessly on their backs, a harsh barrage of _rat-a-tat-tats_ piercing through capes and penetrating through armor, turning Jale and Marica’s hair into little more than sopping ropes of gold and silver. It inundates the sand beneath their feet, turning it into a golden-brown sludge that they grit their teeth and slosh through. Still, although the rain is exasperating, it seems to sweep away the malevolent aura that previously covered the desert; the sound of raindrops plunking against the ground and dripping into puddles fills the silence.

Interminable hours later, they finally slog their way out of Rarohenga without having seen a single monster or Rufa. At the opening to the Wilds of Veile, they sit down to try and get some of the sand out of their boots; socks are stripped off and wrung out, a slurry of rainwater and saffron grains pouring between their fingers onto the dull brown earth.

“I guess they really are gone, huh,” Marica murmurs thoughtfully. “We really owe Rufa one.”

Sieg stands, turns his face toward Rarohenga, salutes the empty desert and the colossal ruins in the distance. “Bye, Rufa,” he says solemnly. “Thanks for everythin’! I’m sure we’ll see ya again someday!”

* * *

The monsters from Rarohenga are gone, but the ones from the Wilds of Veile unfortunately remain. The enemies aren’t extremely strong, but the party is bedraggled and exhausted from the previous day’s fights, despite having camped out the previous night. Their fatigue takes its toll on their reflexes, slowing them just enough that their attempts to dodge enemy attacks are unsuccessful. Without Rufa around, they can’t even escape the monsters successfully.

On their last day in the Wilds of Veile, they encounter one set of monsters that refuses to let them run; exhausted and injured, they use their last two Mega Medicines on Jale and Marica. They manage to take out all except one Veile Boar, which charges at Roberto. Before Roberto can even leap out of the way, Sieg jumps in front of him, taking the brunt of the attack; he is knocked out by its force, and crumples, unconscious, on the ground. An enraged Jale and Marica rapidly take out the boar, while Roberto drops to his knees to check Sieg’s condition.

“He’s alive. But we’ve got to get him back to the city, and soon,” Roberto reports. He helps Marica lift Sieg onto Jale’s shoulders and adjust his position, and then the party takes off, speeding back to Pharamond at the quickest pace they can muster.

* * *

As soon as they enter Pharamond, Roberto detaches himself from the group and heads up the street to the castle. While he reports to Queen Chrodechild on the success of the mission, Jale and Marica drag Sieg over to the infirmary. He ends up spending the night there; Jale and Marica reluctantly leave his room at dusk when the nurse shoos them out, and sleep in the inn. Chrodechild insists on covering the entirety of their bill—“You eradicated _all_ the monsters from Rarohenga! You’ve done the people of Astrasia an incredible service; this is the least I can do,” she protests, when Marica attempts to convince her that they can pay their own way—and surreptitiously sends a reward forward to Moana by way of Amaralicht, who is in and out of the Gateway in a matter of minutes.

(Ever the pragmatist, Moana is extremely pleased to find that the reward consists of even _more_ potch than she expected. More than half of the reward gets fed back into the Astrasian economy, however, boosting it to a new high.)

“Oh, hey, Roberto! Nice of ya to drop by.” Sieg waves at Roberto from his bed in the infirmary, hops off the bed and wanders over to him.

“You _idiot_ ,” Roberto says without preamble. “How can you be so stupid? You think you can just—just jump in front of people to keep them safe, even though you’re hurt—you’re invincible, you _stupid idiot—_ ”

He fishes for words for a minute, comes up with nothing; unable to articulate his thoughts, he reaches out, grabs Sieg by the collar, and ineptly smashes their faces together.

When he looks back, Roberto thinks that kissing Sieg is a bit like being in a battle; the shot of adrenaline that flows through his veins and amplifies his senses is one familiar thing in this completely foreign situation. Everything seems magnified by ten. His heart pounds, his pulse thrums a steady beat beneath his skin. There’s one major difference that he realizes later: in a battle, he’s aware of everything working around him, the clashes and blasts of swords and magic. But here, in this moment, the entire world, or maybe the entire Infinity, seems to shrink down to this one point in time and space. Sieg’s lips are warm and dry against his own, chapped from their days spent wandering through the Rarohenga wastes.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, someone says “ _Oh_.”

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” Roberto mumbles, breathless, and lets go of Sieg’s shirt.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, the dining hall of Castle Ratselhaft echoes with exclamations of triumph. Sisuca looks on in mild bemusement as people pass coins and bills back and forth over the large plate of fried eggs and sausages she’s set on the table.

“I _called_ it,” Marica crows jubilantly. “I _totally_ called it!”

“Can’t you cut me some slack?” Liu mourns, pulling five hundred potch from his pocket. Marica gleefully sweeps it away from him. “I wasn’t there! I never thought Roberto would go through with it!”

Marica twirls to face Jale, lays her hand palm up on the table. “Pay up!”

Jale huffs in fond exasperation, reaches into his pocket, and forks over fifty potch. “Glad I didn’t bet high,” he shrugs.

“Ugh, why didn’t I follow your advice?” mourns Liu, pillowing his head on his arms. “Do you know what I could have bought with five hundred potch? I could’ve bought those delicious Naineneis snacks from Rekareka…”

“What does the Elder Scribe need with money? You have people to do everything for you,” Marica teases. “Poor Len-Lien. I can’t believe she does your _laundry_.”

“It’s not like I asked her to do it!” Liu fires back, flushing in embarrassment.

“Hey, what’s with the potch?” Sieg interrupts, flopping down on a chair between the two of them. “Wait. Don’t tell me ya made _bets_ on this, for cryin’ out loud.”

The ensuing silence speaks for itself.

When the quiet stretches on for a few more minutes, Sieg speaks up again. “Hey, so do I get some of your winnings, Marica?”

“You already _got some_ , if you catch my drift,” Marica says loftily, pocketing the potch. “I think you’ll be fine without sharing in my earnings.”

“Man, if we don’t watch out, you’re gonna become the next Semias,” Sieg complains, but makes no move to claim the potch.

“Speaking of which,” Liu says, and three other heads turn in his direction, “Semias came by for a visit. Couple of other people, too—I think the Lonomakuans passed by. They said they were on their way to Cynas, but I think they spent the night in the inn here. You wanna go up and say hi?”

* * *

“Y’know, Hina was talkin’ to me the other day,” Sieg says conversationally a few days later. He’s popped through the Gateway to visit Roberto, who’s just finished a training session in the Pharamond castle courtyard; ever since they returned from Rarohenga, the number of men and women on patrol at the city limits has decreased drastically. Thus, Roberto’s spent a lot of time over the past few days simply recuperating and hanging around the castle.

“Yeah? What did she say?” Roberto asks, sheathing his blades.

“She said something about how Astrasia should have a representative with the Company—well, y’know. What’s left of it. Said it’d be a good idea. You should think about it!”

* * *

Sieg continues to drop hints until one day, Roberto finally gives in, shuffles over to Chrodechild’s study and knocks on the door. Sieg flashes him a grin and a thumbs-up. Meruvis opens the door, and Roberto walks in.

“Yes, Roberto? What is it?” Chrodechild asks, looking up from some complicated-looking document full of legal jargon that Roberto’s not even going to try to begin to comprehend. He catches a glimpse of _Salsabil_ and  _free trade_ before he launches into his speech.

“Milady, I was thinking—last week, I was talking with Hina at the feast, and she said something about how it would be a good idea to have an Astrasian representative with the Company, seeing as how so many other nations have permanent delegates stationed there.” Chrodechild isn’t outright telling him to stop talking or asking him what the point of all this is, so he resolutely plows on. “I’m offering to become our country’s envoy. Many people in the Company may have gone their separate ways, but the monsters remain. If I’m loaned to Castle Ratselhaft, I’ll be able to help defend the surrounding countries from any dangers that may appear; our defense contributes to the continued security of Astrasia—maybe even the whole continent. Besides, _someone_ needs to make sure Sieg doesn’t get knocked out in battle again.”

The queen seems to be working to suppress an amused smile. “When you put it that way, Roberto, I can’t exactly deny your claim. Very well. You may go.”

“Yes!” Roberto hears Sieg hiss from outside, wonders how long he’s had his ear pressed against the door. Chrodechild hears it too, judging by the amused smile that touches at the corners of her lips; she asks Meruvis to call Sieg in, and the four of them spend a few more minutes negotiating and defining the parameters of lending Roberto to the Viele Wege Company; they finally decide  he’ll have to report back at least once every season, and if the Blades are ever mobilized to defend Astrasia, he’ll of course have to return. The terms are fair, and so, with everything negotiated, Roberto is ready to go.

Sieg tackles him in a bone-crushing hug the second they exit the study, grinning from ear to ear. “Ha! I told ya it’d work!”

“Get off me, you idiot,” Roberto grumbles, but can’t hide the matching smile that slowly spreads over his face. Sieg grabs him by the hand, starts pulling him toward the Gateway. Roberto asks:

“So, where do we start?”

**Author's Note:**

> I thought to myself "There isn't enough Roberto/Sieg fic out there" and then I thought "what if I wrote one as my birthday present to myself". Here is the final, terrifying result.
> 
> So. Happy birthday to me. I'm finally 18 and this is what I have done with my life.


End file.
